Now do go, there's a lamb, and ask your ma if I
mayn't come in."
Mrs. Sharpe dropped her basket in a pet and stalked back to the house.
"It's a peddler-man," she said, crossly, "a-wanting to come in. I told
him he couldn't, and it's of no use; and the best thing you can do is to
set the dogs on him."
"No, no!" cried Mrs. Oleander, shrilly. "Let him come in. I like
peddlers. Go with her, Sally, and tell the man to come round to the
garden gate."
"I'll tell him," said Susan Sharpe, stalking out again. "Let Sally go
and open the gate."
She marched across the yard and addressed the "perambulating merchant."
"You're to go round to the front gate. This way. I've a note for you in
my thimble. I'll drop the thimble in your box."
The first half of Mrs. Sharpe's speech was given for the benefit of Mrs.
Oleander's greedy ears--the latter half, hurriedly and in a low voice,
for his own.
The sagacious peddler nodded, struck up a second stave of his ditty, and
trudged round to the front gate.
Mrs. Sharpe finished hanging out the clothes before she re-entered the
kitchen.
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